A Different Death
by hypnotoad91
Summary: What would have happened if the battle at Malfoy Manor had a greater effect than the death of Dobby? Features a powerful, but battle-scarred Golden trio. AU upon their arrival at Shell Cottage.


With a sharp crack a bloodied Harry, Hermione and Ron sprawled upon the grounds of Shell Cottage, a house elf tangled amongst them. Harry tried desperately to remain conscious. The battle had been a slaughter.

Harry dimly felt Ron jump to his feet and begin shouting. The world was slowly becoming little more than a hazy whirlwind of blue skies and green grass and pale faces all swirling together in a maelstrom of urgency, the light gradually leaving the world. His body was numb, everything grew further and further away as Harry passed into unconsciousness.

Brief snippets of conversation accosted him as he flitted back and forth between reality and dream.

"It's too late for the bloody elf! Save Potter!"

"Granger's fading fast! I don't know what she was hit with..."

"Ron! Bind the wound, the wound's saturated, we'll need to.."

Harry felt a sharp burn that seemed to rock his world sideways before slamming back to the void.

Harry dreamed.

He dreamed of the battle they had just fled, of Hermione's torture, of Malfoy's 'Sectumsempra', of Dobby's incredible loyalty and of Bellatrix' terrifying power.

He dreamt of the brutal fates of the prisoners, of Luna and Olivander: of their tormented screams. His dream-self screamed and screamed alongside the sweet girl who had never shown anything but loyalty, as Bellatrix had sadistically blasted conjured flame through a wound in Luna's chest.

Ollivander had been Cruciated into a bloody heap before being blissfully released with a lethal pulverising curse.

And Harry found that his dreams were simply too much, and dropped further away into dark nothing.

Harry's hearing came back first, alerting him to the painful silence of wherever Dobby had taken them. He open his eyes to a blurry white ceiling, well lit with the kind of soft, reassuring glow of natural light. Upon careful attention he realised that the silence was broken by the odd sob slipping through the wall.

Upon attempting to sit, Harry realised that his entire body seemed paralized causing a deep sense of dread to grow in his chest. Thankfuly at this moment, he heard a door opening and the ever familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey fell upon his ears.

"Mister Potter! I hadn't expected you to awake for quite some time."

Harry saw her blurry form bustle around him.

"Now just wait a minute, Mister Potter. I'm afraid we had to keep you paralized to stop your tossing from injuring you further," she said in her normal brisk manner, "I'll have you checked over in a minute and then let the others know you're awake."

Harry lay for another moment while his wounds were checked over before hearing Madam Pomfrey shuffle away. After a brief silence rapid footsteps approached the room.

"Harry!" Ron gasped, almost tumbling into the room, "Bloody hell mate, I didn't think you'd wake up!"

Harry heard others enter the room – more sedately than Ron had – and felt the magic binding him release. He instantly tried to sit up but felt his friends hand on his chest, keeping him bed-bound.

"Em, maybe you should just lie down for a bit, mate... get... caught up."

Harry heard Ron's voice dip towards the end and relaxed into the bed, he tried to reach with his hand for his glasses but gasped as a shooting pain ran though his right shoulder. He felt his glasses being placed in his left hand and he clumsily put them on, turning to check his right arm.

"Mate, I wouldn't.."

Harry stared at what remained of his arm – or rather, what little did. Everything below his right shoulder was gone, with a neat bandage packaging his shoulder. 'There isn't even a stump,' Harry thought, 'what's happened? I mean, what's, when did, what's..'

Harry's thought ran rampant as he felt hot, casutic bile fill his mouth. He turned his head to the left as his vision swam and puked across the pillow, hot sick pooling around his cheek. His heart beat a "No-No" over and over in his chest as his world went black.

The next morning Harry awoke again to find himself clean. He propped up awkwardly using his left hand and felt someone place his glasses on his face, smelling earth from the hand that did.

His vision cleared to reveal a grim-faced Ron sitting next to the bed. Silence lay between them for some time as they merely stared, neither sure of how to begin.

"Where am I?" Harry croaked, his throat raw from a lack of use.

"Shell Cottage, you know, Bill's place." Ron near-whispered back.

"What happened?"

Ron seemed to deflate here, and Harry noticed the red-rims around his friend's eyes.

"It was fucked, Harry," Ron began in a haunted tone, "Bellatrix was too strong, and when the Malfoy's got involved it just got worse. They slaughtered us. Hermione is still out – even Madam Pomfrey doesn't know if she'll ever... if she'll be like Neville's parents."

Ron inhaled deeply and the emotion of confessing this seemed to shudder through him like a bitter cold. Harry felt oddly emotionless, as though he they were discussing whether they had been assigned four or five inches for potions homework.

"Only me, you, Hermione and Dobby got out. You'll remember what happened with – to – Luna and Ollivander?" At Harry's jerky nod, Ron continued, "Well, after that it was chaos, you were duelling _them _and I was trying to wake Hermione, but she was too far gone mate," tears sprung into Ron's eyes, "and I couldn't leave her, mate, I couldn't.."

"I remember," Harry sighed, "Bellatrix and Malfoy were just toying with me, afraid to kill me, scared of _Him."_

"Well, yeah, but Malfoy couldn't hold back mate. He started getting too aggressive, your arm... Malfoy got your arm."

Harry flinched and turned to look at his wand arm, of where his wand arm once was.

"How long ago?"

"You've been out for about a month."

Harry shot Ron a questioning look - "Why hasn't it healed? Isn't there any, I mean, couldn't Madam Pomfrey regrow it?"

Ron winced as he heard the hope in Harry's voice.

"No," he said with a tone heavy in its finality, "Malfoy used that curse from Snape's book, 'Sectumsempra'. It was just after you'd disarmed him, he had a spare wand..." Ron difted off, "We thought we were going to lose you, it just kept bleeding... eventually Madam Pomfrey had to amputate the arm and cauterize the wound. You managed to keep hold of your wand though"

At this Harry's gaze drifted to his bedsheets, unable to face anyone in this moment of weakness.

"What about Hermione and Dobby?" Harry asked, "Are they okay?"

Ron hesitated. Harry felt the dread in his chest return.

"Dobby... he's gone mate. Bellatrix hit him just before he, we, got out."

Harry felt like he'd been plunged into an icy lake. Every cell in his body seemed to react with despair and he felt, for the first time since watching Dumbledore tumble to the ground with glassy eyes, that he couldn't go on.

"Hermione," Ron began, "is awake. But she's not quite the same."

Harry returned his gaze to Ron enquiringly.

"She's, well you know how energetic she was mate, but she just seems distant. She's been in bed just reading. She flinches if anyone makes a sound near her. Even when we said you were alive, she just continued reading. I-I don't think she'll be able to carry on fighting."

Where Dobby's death his Harry with a hammer-blow, Hermione's pure soul being so severely damaged reminded Harry of the sensation he had felt, deep in his very soul, when he'd witnessed Dumbledore weep in the cave. To see something so very alive be so crushed felt like the ideology behind this war. For the fragile nature light of the Light to be so crushed by the cold existence of the Dark was the very essence of the conflict – it was why he was celebrated as the Boy-Who-Lived; a triumph of fragile life over the Dark's most potent spell against it.

Harry's mind whirled as Ron continued, explaining that he had buried Dobby out front, with a view of the sea – a bitter smile crossed Harry's face as he thought of Dobby, a creature who's sense of morality had led it to risk anything to save a small boy it had only heard of in stories, finally free of the cruel life that he'd led.

He asked Harry if he felt up to seeing Hermione and a few moments later Harry stood shakily, with Ron's help in Hermione's room watching his bushy-haired friend read in the light of the seaside sun.

"Hi Hermione," Harry said, awkwardly wondering what he could say, or do to make this better, "how are you?"

Silence met him. His ever-bright companion, listless, cold.

"I'm.. I'm going to see Dobby. To thank him. Would you like to come?"

Silence once more. Ron clasped Harry's shoulder and shook his head, taking Harry from the room. They walked in silence down to the cliff edge where Harry saw for the first time Dobby's gravestone. It read:

Dobby

Unknown – March 1998

"The Equal to any man"

Harry stood stock still and stared for a long time at the gravestone, with Ron supporting his still weak frame. Eventually they heard soft footsteps and turned to see a night-gown clad Hermione apporaching them, as serene as though she were doing nothing more than taking a pleasant evening stroll.

"Hermione?" Ron asked questioningly, worry etched into his tired features.

"I'm sorry about Dobby," she returned, still looking as though she were – well, Harry thought, Hermione was never this calm.

"So am I," Harry whispered, unable to process all that had happened.

"I'm sorry about Luna as well," she remarked, almost wistfully, "I was never very nice to her, I should really have taken her more seriously."

At this, Harry and Ron remained silent, before turning once more to the grave.

"I was too weak," Harry murmured, "Too weak to cover you as you readied our escape. Too weak to fight off the snatchers. I'll be too weak to fight _Him._"

Ron merely looked lost. Hermione stared at the sea, not at all concerned with the conversation.

"I need to get strong. There's nothing really left otherwise – even if we destroy the Hocroxes, he's still far too powerful to defeat."

Hermione turned and stared at Harry as Ron felt a growing hatred within him. A burning fury that he'd never felt before. The wizarding world as a whole hated Death Eaters, but never before had Ron felt such a personal hatred. He inclined his head at Harry's words thinking of the chance to destroy the other side.

As the wind picked up over Shell Cottage, and the multi-hued sunset cast warm shadows over the inscription on Dobby's gravestone; as the grass moved with the life of the wind and all around them the fragility of what could be lost was apparent, a declaration was made that would forever change the wizarding world. A declaration that, for better or worse, would result in more bloodshed than there would have been had Harry Potter, Fate's chosen rival to Tom Riddle, continued along the path Albus Dumbledore had set.

"I will be Strong."

And there we go. A first draft of a first story of a first idea. This is roughly planned out for about two thirds of the story. If it gains any interest then I'll continue. Please review.


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